


Like What I See, Love What I Don't

by Whynotitsfun



Series: TSC Prompt #13: House Rule Number One: You need to wear more clothes." [2]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:25:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whynotitsfun/pseuds/Whynotitsfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orgy Armada Revolution 2nd coming Challenge</p><p>Prompt #13- Charloe Style</p><p>** this posted twice for some reason... if the other version deleted on you, my apologies...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like What I See, Love What I Don't

                Bass tossed and turned in his bed, trying to get comfortable. For some reason, it just wasn’t to be. The mattress was lumpy, his pillow too flat, the breeze coming in from the window wasn’t strong enough and so on.

                He’d been right in the zone—just buzzed enough to sleep, but no so drunk for the heat of summer to be even more unbearable. And then the sound of a door squeaking open and feet padding down the hallway to the bathroom had woken him. Years of military service and then more years of paranoia had made him one of the world’s lightest sleepers.

                If he’d had little kids, it would be a total bonus. As the only other person living in his home was grown, it just left him feeling tired and annoyed. Not that his housemate was overly loud or anything. No, the footsteps had been quiet and the opening and closing of doors had been carefully done. It was just that he was a shitty sleeper and probably always would be.

                Of course, now that he was awake, he had a bigger problem. He could practically picture everything his roommate was doing, just based off of the sounds he heard. A trip to the bathroom. The rinsing of hands in the basin. The telltale splashing of someone washing their face.

                The soft sound of bare feet on the hardwood floor and the gentle closing of a bedroom door. The sound of a belt buckle—metal hitting wood gently— probably the dresser, never the floor. The rustling of clothing followed by the opening and closing of the wicker hamper.

                That meant the other occupant of this tiny house was now undressed. The opening of a drawer. He could practically picture the wincing look that was made when it slammed shut (the drawer had been sticking lately).

                Each sound had turned into torture, so Bass flopped this way and that again and ended up stuffing his head under the pillow to block it out. _You only heard one drawer open… The one that sticks… the top one on the left… The one that has… Stop it! It’s none of your business what’s in that drawer… Well, she did ask you to take a look at it, so it wasn’t as if you were snooping or anything…_

Stifling a groan, Bass gave up and got out of bed. He obviously needed another drink. Rubbing the back of his neck and yawning, he walked towards the kitchen. As he moved, he tried to ignore the way his flannel pants rubbed him uncomfortably. This was _so_ not what he’d had in mind when Charlie had come to him asking for a place to stay.

                She’d been sick and tired of her family’s rules. She was almost twenty-three and she had a curfew for God’s sake! And so she’d tracked him down a few weeks ago and had practically begged to use his spare room.

                He got it. He wasn’t big on rules—the only reason they’d had so damn many in the Republic was because Miles had written them. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been a dictatorship as much as it would have been unorganized chaos. Now that he was an old, broken down civilian, he didn’t really live by any.

                Charlie had, of course asked him what his “house rules” were when she’d moved in and he’d just looked at her, completely confused. He hadn’t thought of even having any. He did what he wanted, lived as he wished and didn’t give a shit otherwise.

                All things considered, if anyone could see what life was like in their shared household, the general consensus would be that the arrangement was a good one. Charlie was a quiet, clean and considerate person to live with. More so than Bass was, actually. She picked up after herself (and him), paid for half of the food in the house and replaced his whiskey when she drank it.

                Bass, on the other hand was kind of a slob. He did things like take out the trash, do the dishes and laundry because he didn’t want to live with bugs and vermin and he had to have half-way clean clothes to wear. Other than that, he wasn’t much of a housework kind of guy. Charlie was always moving and she seemed to have no problem dusting, mopping and so on.

                The only problem he had really was his over-active imagination, which was in overdrive tonight. And, it was because of that imagination that he was fairly sure this wasn’t going to work out permanently. He’d go insane before long at the rate he was going.

                He was so busy reconsidering the wisdom of his agreeing to this form of self-torture that he wasn’t really watching where he was going. It was dark as it was. Because of this, Bass ran headlong into a soft, warm and unexpected body.

                He felt the ribbed material of her tank top against his chest. Instinctively, he grabbed her to keep her from falling over, and his hand alit on a bare thigh, the other on her waist, right where her skin was bare.

                He couldn’t see her well in the darkness of the kitchen, but oh God could he picture her. She’d be wearing one of those little tanks she favored—the ones that clung to her like a second skin. Of course she’d have no bra on. Other than that, just those little cotton panties that filled that top left drawer.

                He cleared his throat and dropped his hands, balling them up into fists. For some reason that he hadn’t the presence of mind to consider, she just stood there, her back still up against him. He could smell her hair, and he wanted to wrap it around his hand and use it to… _Stop it!_

                “Um… Charlie? I hate to say it, but I think we need a few rules here.”

                Was that a hint of amusement he detected in her voice? ”I thought you hated rules?”

                “I lied. I like rules—love them in fact. We should have a whole bunch of rules, because rules are important.” Bass was quite aware he was babbling, but he couldn’t make it stop.” Rule number one. Can you wear more clothes? Please?”

                Charlie then turned around. In doing so, she stumbled a little and ended up crashing into him, right into his chest. _Did she seriously just trip over her own feet?_ Of course, instinct again kicked in and he caught her.

                Bass’ eyes had adjusted to the dim light and he could make her out a little better. She looked up at him, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was smashed. “Sorry,” she slurred with a dopy grin on her face.

                Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he released her again and took a giant step back. The last thing he needed right now was to let her in on his discomfort. “Yeah, about that rule. Um… If you’re gonna stay up, mind putting on some pants?”

                Before she could answer, Bass fled to the safety of his bedroom. He hadn’t even heard her go into the kitchen, he’d been that distracted by those unwanted images that had flitted across his mind. _Nope. This is so not gonna work…_

                Frustrated, Bass got back into bed and stared up at the ceiling. Then, in the moonlight, he glanced at the tent he was pitching in his pants. The sound of Charlie slightly stumbling back into her room, brought those same unwanted images and thoughts back. He then decided that there was only one way to solve both of his immediate problems. He was hard as a rock and awake when he didn’t want to be—two birds, one stone.

                Charlie waited until she heard the springs on his old and tired mattress squeak before she slithered back down the hallway and into her room. Her expression sobered the second her door closed behind her. The walls were thin as hell, so she knew exactly what he was doing. He was being quiet, sure, but the sound of skin on skin could still just barely be heard. “Damn,” she breathed.

                That hadn’t worked out the way she’d planned. And, all that had resulted from all of her hard work was him trying to create a rule that would prevent it from happening in the future. She listened to the sounds of his breathing becoming more rapid and harsh.

                _Fuck this!_ She thought as she whipped her tank top off and turned to open her bedroom door. She padded across the hallway, letting her panties drop in the middle of it. She opened his door loudly, letting it bang against the wall.

                Charlie bit her lip and smiled as he shot up in bed, startled and probably more than a little embarrassed. “Rules were kinda made to be broken,” she told him as she stepped into Bass’ room and slammed the door shut behind her.


End file.
